


a vow on the ocean – or not

by silverhedges



Series: canon hxh fics [3]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Body Horror, M/M, POV Second Person, Wakes & Funerals, kite is going through some changes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 04:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17460779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverhedges/pseuds/silverhedges
Summary: Kite attends his own funeral.





	a vow on the ocean – or not

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Togashi's comment in volume 3 of Hunter x Hunter.

You attend your own funeral.

It has been some months since you died but there has been no haste for the funeral. Pitou rebuilt your body. It still breathes, will still take nourishment, even as it lies still. At least there is no jerky moments, no staring eyes: the puppet strings have broken. How strange this funeral is, to be burying a breathing body. How strange it is that you are here to witness it.

There is a disconnect in your mind.

The funeral takes place on a sunny day, in the graveyard owned by the Hunter Association. You have no home of your own to be buried in, and no money to do so regardless. When discussing the funeral arrangements, Cheadle (Chairman now, you remind yourself) came to you, smoothed down her skirts, and:

“The body will be buried in our own graveyard, of course. You were one of our own.” Her eyes are intent on yours – she doesn’t give in to any instinct to run away or look down. “I will have to consult the Zodiacs on whether or not you shall retain your Hunter license or be allowed to retake the exam.”

Chairman Cheadle tilts her head, examining you as if you were a corpse.

Kite the Hunter is dead. Kite the Ant is alive. Are you the Hunter yet living? Are you dead and buried?

Gon comes to the funeral, because of course he does, because there is not a single thing you could say to stop him. It is strange to be looking at him on an even level. It is strange that Killua is missing from his side. When he looks at the casket, there is a terrible blackness in his eyes and for a moment you wonder – how could he have ever resembled Ging? this child with murderous intention, this monster underneath his skin, the passion Ging has never had, how did Ging birth this child that no one knew of? – before he turns away and the moment breaks.

He is your sunshine child restored as he smiles at you.

The coffin is lowered down into the grave and the piles of dirt are shovelled onto it. Your mind is blank as you watch it. You still look into the mirror and jerk away because you are expecting a different reflection. Why is this body being buried? Why is it not your own? Why are you standing here above in the fresh air and not being covered by the dark earth below?

Your crew are standing near. How to feel about them? They are different in your memory than there are in real life, like the difference between seeing someone on TV and walking down the street.

Your chimera ants are there. The suited koala on your left side, Ikalgo, Meleoron, Palm. All these people who fought so hard to avenge you before they even knew you. Your blood sings when you look at them – there is something so indescribably right about their attendance at your side.

On your right-hand side is Colt.

Colt, who was there when you first emerged into consciousness and has never left your side since. Colt, who is patient and reliable and sensible, who follows your orders exactly and rebukes others for reckless schemes. Colt, who looks at you as if he would die or kill or betray his kin just for you, or maybe has already done all those and would do so again in a heartbeat. All Colt desires is to be by your side forever. All Colt wants is just _you_ , in whatever form, because you are not just _enough_ for him, you are everything.

No one has ever looked at you the way Colt looks at you. You suspect that no one ever will.

Is that the expression on your face when you look at Ging?

Was it?

Ging doesn’t come to the funeral. You never expected him to.

The night after the funeral, you don’t sleep, so you stay on the couch and watch the moonlight shape the shadows of the living room. What does your body see in its coffin? Is it pitch-black in there? Pressed down by the earth, do your fingernails scratch the roof of the coffin?

The window doesn’t creak as it opens, but the draft of cold air on your skin lets you know that someone is there.

His steps are silent but you know this aura better than you know your own. You know his body better than you know your own. You know him better than you know yourself.

For the first time in your life, you are treated to the unimpressed look Ging gives strangers. “I’m here for Kite,” he says, dismissively looking past you to the bedroom door. “Is he in there?”

“No,” you say as soft as you can but the high pitch of your voice still sounds like a stranger’s.

“Then where is he?”

“Right in front of you.”

Ging stares. For the first time in a long, long time you are treated to his shock: eyes widened, mouth parted. You haven’t seen that expression since you were his student. He approaches and you swallow. This is the first time you have ever had to look up at him. He switches on the light and you blink rapidly out of habit alone: your chimera ant eyes do not need to grow accustomed to sudden light.

You stand up from the sofa, but you don’t even reach Ging’s shoulders. This is a strange angle. 

Then Ging’s mouth curves into a smile.

If nothing else, the way your heart beats faster at his smile is familiar.

“I’m taller than you,” he murmurs. “I guess this is the only plus to come outta all this.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” you look down – it is hard to keep looking at a smiling Ging, “I’m growing quickly. Next time you see me, I’ll probably be taller.”

“Probably?” Ging echoes. You don’t want to tell him that your dead twin brother was apparently short, according to Killua’s estimate. “I think I could get used to being taller than you.”

You say nothing in response, because you love him and you hate him and he did not come to your funeral but he came looking for the living you.

“I like your red hair. It suits you.” Ging’s voice is soft around the unexpected compliment and you look up to see him looking down at you, eyes half-open. Then he blinks, and you’re treated to a flustered mumble, “Don’t take that the wrong way, you’re a _kid_ now, ah, fuck.”

You ignore your traitorous heart to say instead: “I’ll need to relearn how to use my nen.”

Ging looks away from your face, gaze drifting over thin arms and then around the room. Abruptly, he switches off the light, leaving the room in darkness once more. “Yeah. I could see that.”

“I’ll find another nen master,” you say, because you understand his implicit rejections. “Perhaps my nen category has changed. I suspect Gon’s has as well.” (You almost miss the clown.)

Ging’s face tightens at the mention of his son, returning to a carefully blank formation.

He never stays for long, so you broach the elephant in the room: “Why are you here, Ging?”

He looks back at you. You stare at him, trying to memorise the exact shade of his hazel eyes. You know what he’s going to say before he even says it. How is it that he still has this spell over you? That when he looks at you, your nerves go white-hot with desire and love and affection? Even after dying, you still love this man who is going to leave you?

How is it that even offered reliable love, you are still chasing after this unattainable man?

“I’m leaving. It’s dangerous. If I survive, I won’t be back for years.”

You shrug. “I won’t chase after you,” you say and watch his dark eyes on you, “I have my own responsibilities here now.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“I’m the Queen now,” your mind drifts off, “And I must take care of my colony.”

 _Until the King is born_ , your mind finishes in someone else’s voice and when you look down you have unconsciously splayed your fingers across your flat stomach. An image flashes in your head, of a child with hazel eyes and dark hair.

You look at Ging and you want him in the basest sense of the verb.

His expression is still, until he leans down, meeting you at eye level. His rough voice is deep as he lowers it. “I’m not asking you to make me any promises, because you know I’m not that sort of man. But Kite…”

In the darkness of the apartment, there the two of you stand, inches apart.

“…don’t make me have to kill you when I come back.”

Your lips peel back over your teeth. You’re either snarling or grinning. You don’t know which. Ging steps back and the studying look on his face is akin to Cheadle’s and yet not. You want to use your tongue to say _the Kite you knew is dead_ , you want to kiss him, you want to eat him alive.

Instead you say, “I know more than you think I do,” and you close your eyes, reaching out for the pinpricks of consciousness you can sense like your own body. “Gyro in Meteor City. 5000 chimera ant eggs yet to be hatched. How could I not know? I am their Queen and if they will not obey me, I will make them.”

You shut your mouth and open your eyes, realising you’ve said too much, even if it’s to someone you love.

But Ging doesn’t look scared or unnerved or disgusted. If he’s realised that you’ve changed, then perhaps he just doesn’t care. Perhaps he still knows that the part of you that wants Ging has survived even death and rebirth.

“One last thing before I go.”

“What?”

“I won’t avenge you, so don’t you dare die when I’m away.”

“Got it.”

After he’s gone, you stand in the room. Perhaps it’s a futile measure to attempt to commit what Ging smells like to memory, but if you cannot have his presence, then at least you have this. It isn’t enough. You want more. You’re hungry in a way that the dead Hunter never was. Yet, you aren’t afraid, because after all, this is just a new beginning.


End file.
